


Misha Collins is an Extremely Thoughtful and Generous Person

by RurouniHime



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Coming Out, Family Drama, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a House, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-17
Updated: 2011-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No, he really <i>is</i>. (Sequel to The Flub)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to The Flub, which I started writing after episode 5.18, Point of No Return. Thus, the Supernatural show’s storyline diverges even further here and does not take into account any of the episodes after.

“It’s time for the talk, Jensen Ackles.”

Jensen looks up and groans. “Misha, for the love of god.”

Misha takes a seat and pins Jensen to the lunch table by both wrists. “There comes a time in every young man’s life when he falls in love with his male costar.”

Jensen yanks a hand free and slaps it over his face. “Fuck my life.”

“When two people love each other, they have loads of sex and risk contracting a venereal disease. Babies are the longest lasting venereal disease.”

Jensen gapes at the train wreck in front of him. “You are not serious.”

“It’s imperative that if you don’t want to be infected with babies, you utilize proper methods of protection such as condoms, spermicide, and not having a uterus.”

 _“Misha.”_ He wants to die. He really, really does. Like, now. There are _people_ around.

“If Jared happens to be in possession of a uterus, he won’t want to bottom.” Misha cocks his head to one side. “Jensen, do you have a uterus?”

That’s it, appetite gone. Jensen gets up and leaves the catering tent.

**

Remember that part where Jensen swore never to let Misha Collins anywhere near his cell phone ever again?

Yeah, F-minus.

**

It’s his phone, damn it. He should be able to Google anal sex on the internet if he wants to.

**

But he most certainly should _not_ let Misha use his phone to call his wife after looking up said Google topic.

**

 _Fuck._

**

So he might want to have sex with Jared. Full-on penetrative sex. They’ve done just about everything else and Jensen’s only more obsessed with the guy. He’s eyebrow-deep in the comfy mud bath of love and not planning on climbing out any time soon, so there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s doing this. He wants to get naked with Jared and fuck until they’re sweaty and exhausted and possibly until Jared comes three times or passes out or something equally awesome and ego-boosting. But he doesn’t really know all the mechanics of it, and what he does know makes him think he’ll want all the information he can get on the subject, because he is _not_ going to hurt Jared if he can damn well help it.

In fact, Jensen’s pretty sure he’s going to bottom first. He kind of wants to, like, a lot. He’s fucking curious. He’s had penetrative sex with women; he knows from experience just how close it can bring two people. And the notion of Jared that close to him, that intimate… It’s shaking him up in ways he’s never been shaken before, to the point where the Freudian slips are becoming legendary.

(Jensen: _Hey, tonight we should eat your hot dog— um. The hot dogs. You bought. I’m._

Jared: _Wow, you totally just said that in public._ )

So he researches, mostly on the net because he doesn’t exactly own The Joy of Gay Sex. Alas.

Also? Misha’s an assbutt and no longer deserves his undying gratitude.

**

When they finally did it, getting tested for STDs (other than babies, thank you very much) didn’t take long. Jensen managed it over a lunch break on a Tuesday. Jared went out and did it during a set change, for cripes sake. No, the difficult part was coming up with lies about where they were going and why they each needed a car.

It’s really not Sera’s business whether he’s planning on dropping trou or peeing into a cup or bleeding for kicks in a doctor’s office, but try telling her that.

“Are you sure you’ll be back in time?”

“I— yes. I’m sure.”

“Because we have a very full schedule this afternoon.”

“I know.”

“ _Very_ full.”

“I know.”

“It would be easier if I knew exactly where you were headed. What traffic will be like, a contact number, that kind of thing.”

“Um, you have my cell.”

“Okay, but will your cell be on? Some places, they don’t like your cell to be on.”

Holy shit, what is she, the all-powerful omnipotent Q?

So that had been an interesting day. But Jensen came back clean and so did Jared, so it was worth it.

**

Except for the part where Clif cottoned on.

“Stop smirking, Tiny.”

“Whatever do you mean, Jensen?”

“Just drive.”

**

“Clif, stop _whistling!_ ”

**

It’s late. Jensen is making out with Jared on the couch. It’s a good, good thing.

Jared kisses like he’s unaware there is a rest-of-the-world out there somewhere with other people in it. It’s just Jensen, Jensen’s mouth, Jensen’s chest under his shirt, Jensen’s hip and the best place to fit the fingers of one hand, Jensen’s fly and the smoothest way of getting it open with the other hand. Jared is really fucking talented. He hitches their hips together, a light, steady roll right up against Jensen’s groin that should be patented as a method for igniting nuclear reactions. Jared would be a bazillionaire. Jensen could be his trophy wife. There would be a fat ass pool, and there would be sex in that pool, and sex in the pool-side lounge chairs, which would all have goose down cushions, and sex on the immaculate lawn beside the equally immaculate pool area, and Jared wouldn’t ever leave the property because Jensen has Needs.

He breaks the kiss and gasps for air, finds Jared’s lips again and gets back to it. Jared pushes up over him, a hand bracing on the back of the couch as he grinds down. The Mavs are getting their asses kicked on the TV behind Jared, and Jensen’s sure Jared’s somehow responsible for that, too, but who the hell cares? Jensen doesn’t. And he’d feel like a traitor if any of that mattered right now. Jared tucks a hand high up under his thigh and squeezes, and Jensen lifts up, hooks Jared closer with his foot and shoves his hand down the back of Jared’s jeans and pushes him closer and up, and that’s, that’s just—

“Fuck,” he breathes. Jared sucks at his throat, right under the curve of his chin, bites a little with his teeth, laves with his tongue, and does it all over again. Jensen gets a handful of Jared’s hair and tugs until he can get at that mouth again, and by the time he’s coming— in his pants, but who gives a shit, he’s done laundry five times in the past two weeks— Jared’s got his tongue so far down Jensen’s throat that it might be responsible for that last bit of pressure on his dick, the touch that sends him over.

Fucking _talented_.

Jared hums something against his mouth, licks into another kiss, and Jensen sighs and kisses back. He releases Jared’s hair, wraps that arm around Jared, and shifts his other hand around to the front of Jared’s jeans. He loves the way Jared jerks in his arms, like every time Jensen grabs him, it’s new and he’s all innocent and appalled and two nanoseconds from bursting apart like a virginal teenager. It’s then that Jared’s kiss loses its dexterity, gets all heady and sloppy and needy; Jared pushes up into him, rises up on his knees like he’s trying to climb Jensen’s body, get right inside him where it all is and cannonball into the thick of it, rolling his hips into Jensen’s belly and panting brokenly over his lips and chin, not even able to kiss properly anymore, like he can’t handle all the sensations at once, and then he just shudders and shakes and arches and flies apart, and it’s _awesome every single damn time_.

Everything makes Jensen horny these days. His bed, Jared’s jacket draped over a stool in the kitchen, pre-recorded basketball, the fucking doorbell ringing… It would be kind of frightening if Jensen had the time or inclination to think about it. But he doesn’t. Too busy being aroused. It’s all Jared’s fault.

“All your fault,” he manages to say. It’s mostly a hiss. In the background, the TV crowd roars and a buzzer goes off. Jensen snickers. “Bzzzt.”

Jared noses his cheek. “Game?”

“If by ‘game’ you mean ‘orgasm’.”

Jared snorts. He presses his lips tenderly to the line of Jensen’s jaw. “Overtime?”

“Fuck, Jare.” It’s late. It’s so damn late and they have early call tomorrow for what will likely end up being a sixteen-hour day. Obviously there’s only one mature and professional answer. “Yes.”

**

For the record, Jensen does not recommend or support doing one’s sexual research on the internet (especially Wikipedia; that article changed four times in two days), without utilizing an approved, non-web-based resource as well. He also does not recommend using porn as one’s primary citation in the bibliography.

But it _is_ fun to watch.

Like, fun-hilarious. “Dude, rip-off! It’s not physically possible for a normal human male to do that to himself!”

Jared’s voice comes from the kitchen where he’s opening a can of dog food. “Jen, you’d better not be throwing popcorn at my television.”

Well. Jensen will never _admit_ to it.

**

“Jensen, I’ve been thinking,” Misha says.

“Please don’t.”

“I never got you a birthday present.”

Call him paranoid, but that can’t be a good lead-in. “Yes, you did. You got me a Furby you taught to yell swear words. I keep it because you’re crazy and I fear for my life.”

Misha waves a hand. “Everyone should have one of those.”

Jensen dreads the day that Misha rediscovers Pogs or Magic the Gathering.

“If there’s something you want,” Misha goes on, “a book or a manual or a penis lollipop, you should let me know.”

“Oh, I know. I want you to go away. There.”

Misha gloms onto him with both arms and one leg. Across the set, Jared lets out an affronted screech and rushes them both. Jensen doesn’t have a prayer, and goes down in a heap of limbs and a trench-coat and the keys to the Impala and a fake machete and a water bottle and possibly half a bagel with strawberry cream cheese on it. In the scuffle, Misha curses Jared’s bloodline in Klingon and Jared plants a smacker on Jensen’s mouth under the cover of Misha’s torso.

**

 _From: Victoria Vantoch  
Y does Mish think ur fave flavor is spearmint anyway?  
Received: Mon Mar 23 4:31pm_

Jensen texts back that under no circumstances is she to let her husband purchase anything spearmint-flavored. He’s got a bad feeling.

**

Contrary to popular belief, Jensen does use Google for things related to the show. Not for himself or anything; he’s not trying to end up certifiably insane. It’s just fun to get blackmail material on Jared.

Staring at [the site in front of him](http://www.jaredpadaleckisass.com/), at this exact moment, Jensen desperately needs to know two things. One, where the hell did they find that _song_ , because Jensen has to know if there’s more where it came from. And two, why had he never taken a good hard look at Jared’s ass before all this anyway?

Hell, why didn’t _he_ come up with this site instead of whoever actually did?

“Jared! Get your ass in here!” And then Jensen’s off and laughing because, holy shit, he clicked the Smack It! link.

“Dude. _What_ are you watching?”

Jensen’s too busy smacking to answer. Jared comes in, leans over the back of his chair and starts guffawing. “Gimme! Give me the mouse, I want to do it. Jensen, give me the mouse!”

Jensen does because now he’s got the real thing.

**

Jared heads to Texas on Friday to visit his folks. It was surprising how devastating the news was when Jared told him. Jensen spends a morning he should have been sleeping bringing Jared off with his mouth instead.

“Okay… That’s it,” Jared mutters weakly afterward, skin slicked with sweat and one arm thrown over his eyes. His green and blue plaid boxers are rumpled around the tops of his thighs. “Canceling my flight and staying here forever.”

The problem with that is, Jensen’s a good boyfriend. He knows how to tell the difference between what Jared wants and what Jared needs. “No, you’re not.” He kisses Jared’s stomach, right beside his navel, then again underneath. “Your mama’s got dibs on her birthday.”

Jared sighs, full-bodied, and drags Jensen up the bed for some less vocal entertainment. Later, at lunch, he drags Jensen into his trailer for more of the same. At dinner, it’s Jensen’s trailer, and then Jared climbs into the car with the driver and his suitcase, and heads out.

Jensen takes the dogs home and lets them up on his bed for the night.

On Saturday morning, halfway down the footpath by the river with the self-same hounds, Jensen gets a text from Megan Padalecki.

 _From: Padamini  
ZOMG YUSSS -fist pump-  
Received: Sat Mar 28 10:42am_

The phone rings.

“Hey.”

Jared’s voice is warm and smiley over the line. “Turns out my folks like your application for ‘son’ even more than they like mine.”

Jensen stops so fast the dogs jerk back on their leashes. Sadie swings her head around and eyes him balefully. “Did you…?”

“Yep.”

Somewhere on the internet, there is a photo of Jensen Ackles standing in the middle of the jogging path on a sunny morning, tangled up by two giant dogs, wearing aviators and grinning like Ralphie Parker on Christmas. People across seven continents are now speculating about how fast his heart lodged itself into his throat and for what reason.

**

On Saturday evening, Jensen calls the Padaleckis and wishes Jared’s mother a very happy birthday. She takes exactly two-point-five seconds to turn the conversation into all the reasons she’s glad her baby boy is dating him. _Seeing him_ , is how she puts it. It sounds mature. There are people chatting and laughing in the background. The house just sounds warm. Like fall holidays. Jensen is both gratified and embarrassed, but it’s a pleasant sort of heat in his cheeks, the kind that makes him wish he were there to blush at her words in person.

**

He hears it when the front door opens and shuts. The dogs hear it, too. They both perk up, and Sadie flounders off the bed and trots out the door. Jensen is right behind her, Harley behind him.

Jensen shuffles down the stairs, feet covered by the ends of his pajama pants. The house is full of dark blues and deep grays from the streetlight lancing in through the windows. His eyes are mostly shut at this point. It’s cold and silent, and Jensen goes by some sixth sense: vibrations on the air, something, because within the next two seconds, he’s rounded the corner to the front hallway and there’s Jared, still in his coat, toeing off his shoes next to his suitcase.

Jensen walks straight into him, burying his face in the heat of Jared’s shoulder and slinging heavy arms around his torso. He pulls Jared from the door, hugs him all the way down the hall and tows him up the stairs. He presses his mouth to Jared’s throat and breathes him in— the airport terminal, the wool of his coat, the car that brought him home. His parents’ house. The crispness of a late chill outside. Jensen feels the rumble when Jared murmurs his name, and finally, finally gets him into the bedroom. Harley and Sadie circle, tails whapping hard against their thighs, but Jensen pushes Jared onto the bed with his whole body and collapses down after him.

Jared laughs softly. The house has been far too silent since Jensen last heard the sound.

He lets Jared take off his jacket and jeans, and then that’s enough: Jensen slumps them both down using his own weight, under the covers and back to sleep.

**

It turns out that Mrs. Padalecki has sent her son home with a Tupperware container full of Jared Cookies. It’s really not _that_ inappropriate that they now act as an aphrodisiac for Jensen. Right?

**

Copious reasons why Jensen needs to go into Witness Protection:

 _From: Padasumthin  
Smack it! :)  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:06pm_

 _From: Victoria Vantoch  
Fyi i smacked it.  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:09pm_

 _From: Tiny Kosterman  
I smacked it 2  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:10pm_

 _From: Victoria Vantoch  
No i rly smacked it. Yesterday  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:11pm_

 _From: Mishmash  
Its tru. I was there. She smacked it  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:11pm_

 _From: Padasumthin  
She smacked it good  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:12pm_

 _From: Tiny Kosterman  
How good did she smack it jared?  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:13pm_

 _From: Padasumthin  
Real good. Got a bruise  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:13pm_

 _From: Mishmash  
Ths makes me so hot  
Received: Wed Apr 1 7:13pm_

**

Jensen spends a lot of his time musing about the nature of his existence these days.

Ha, that makes him sound all worldly and pretentious, like he’s been having sex with tons of men for years instead of one man for three teeny tiny little weeks. It feels a lot longer than that, though, and Jensen can’t say he’s upset with that arrangement.

It feels like he’s been _with_ Jared since the beginning, actually. Since the day they met. Which is stupid because, duh, Jensen would totally have noticed if he’d been getting his rocks off every night for the past five years with Jared Tristan Padalecki. Jensen doesn’t know if everyone’s hip to this, but Jared’s kind of hard to miss. In bed all naked and sweaty and such, he’d be really hard to miss.

Jensen’s already come to terms with the fact that he’s completely gaga for Jared. In love. Ready to commit. Already committed, if he’s honest with himself. Also in the loosen-that-straitjacket kind of way. Sometimes he does think he’s gone a little crazy. Seriously, Jared doesn’t even have boobs, and Jensen wants Jared to fuck him up the ass multiple times. If that’s not a sign of commitment, Jensen doesn’t know what is.

Jared’s a little difficult to satisfy, to tell the truth. Oh, Jensen doesn’t think he’s not pulling his own weight in bed or anything melodramatic like that. It’s more like Jared is just always ready to go. Even when he’s not the one instigating, it only takes one extended touch from Jensen— a hand on the upper thigh or fingers lingering on his belly where his shirt climbs up, a rub to his nape— and Jared’s there. Ready. Raring. Up on him.

Jensen can’t say he has a problem with that either. He’s just a little surprised sometimes. There are a two broken glasses and one mixing bowl laid to rest that can attest to the level of Jensen’s shock (interestingly, the mixing bowl in question is the very same one Jensen nearly dropped when Jared tongued cookie dough right out of his mouth that first time they had sex in the kitchen, and whoa, that’s a memory, time to sit down). There’s even a scar, the one and only time the surprise did not lead to a full on make-out fest and more: Jensen would have been okay with it, but Jared was sort of concerned about the amount of blood dripping onto the linoleum from Jensen’s thumb.

It wasn’t even that deep a slice. There were bandaids in the bathroom, no biggie.

So Jensen’s kind of into this whole ‘Jared Loves To Kiss’ scheme. With capitals. There’s also the subsets ‘Jared Kisses A Lot’ and ‘Jared Really Enjoys Getting Jensen To Take Off All His Clothes’. All systems of belief that Jensen can support.

The only ones suffering seem to be the hellhounds. Jensen never knew he was such a distraction from trips to the park or morning runs or general snuggling and wrestling. Since Jared’s predominantly snuggling and wrestling with _him_ nowadays, he feels kind of bad about that. It’s a good thing Sadie and Harley wouldn’t know how to hold a grudge even if they double-majored in the subject.

They do know where he sleeps, though. Good thing he sleeps with Jared.

**

Two things happen on Thursday.

First, Jensen gets a hug from Misha and an assurance that all his troubles are now over.

“Don’t worry, Jensen, I got your back.” Misha pats his back to illustrate his point. He looks down at Jensen’s… back. “It’s okay. Jared shares.”

Jensen wonders if Jared is aware that he shares.

Second, Jensen gets a text.

 _From: Tiny Kosterman  
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA U R SO SCREWD. Pick u guys up @ 9  
Received: Thu Apr 2 12:04pm_

Jensen slumps in his director’s chair, puts his head in his hands, and prays to every god he’s aware of that Misha has nothing to do with this.

**

Of course, he’s wrong.

**

It’s sitting there on the back seat: curly ribbons, speckled confetti on a bubblegum pink bag with brightly colored tissue peeking out, that orange shade that turns eyeballs inside out in five seconds. Jensen’s name is written in big purple block letters on the tag. If one of the currently orbiting satellites zoomed in over Vancouver right this second, NASA would know who this gift is for and where it was purchased.

Any minute, Jared will come out of his trailer with the dogs and get in the car. Jensen’s too terrified to wait. He grabs the bag and opens the top.

Inside is a book.

Jensen reads the title, rereads it, reads it a third time, then shuts the bag. He swallows down the mass in his throat. “Clif, did you look in this bag?”

Clif’s eyes flick to his in the rearview mirror. “Nope. Should I have?”

“No.” Jensen clutches the bag tighter.

Clif shrugs. “It was from Misha. Figured that was above my pay grade.”

He’s got _that_ right.

**

“Misha, you _dick_.”

Misha eats an organic Cheeto-equivalent. “Only on Saturdays. Ahoy there.”

Jensen grabs the chain of the swing Misha’s sitting in (god, he thinks the set designers actually built this swing-set for Misha’s personal use and not, in fact, for an episode) and starts twisting it up. “You _can’t_ —” twist “—just go _around_ —” twist “—buying _that book_ —” twist “—in _this city_ —” twist “—and _giving_ it—” twist “—to your _costars_ —” twist “—in bright pink bags—” twist “— _that say Naughty Nook on them!_ ”

Spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin.

Misha’s organic Cheeto-equivalents go flying. It would be funnier if they didn’t hit Jensen in the face.

**

 _The Joy of Gay Sex, Revised & Expanded Third Edition_ by Dr. Charles Silverstein and Felice Picano. Illustrations by Joseph Phillips.

 _Dear J the First,_

 _When I saw this, I immediately knew what I had to do. A voice spoke to me from on high and told me to Make You Happy. J the Second makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you, and that’s saying a lot because I’ve seen you up to your elbows in a bin full of watermelon Jolly Ranchers. Use this, my friend. Study it. Commit every illustration to memory. Have lots and lots of Gay Sex and be very very Joyful._

 _There will be a test later._

 _I might love you more than pistachios,  
MC_

**

“So, Misha’s throwing up orange stuff in his trailer,” Jared says, thumb pointing back over one shoulder. His eyes flick over Jensen and narrow. “Much the same color as that stuff on your shirt.”

Jensen offers Jared an organic Cheeto-equivalent. “Your point being?”

**

He hides the book from Jared. He feels a little stupid owning it, even though he’s not the one who bought it. Not that it’s a stupid book either; it’s really very informative. Jensen’s looked. He’s looked a lot.

He may even have gaped like a dead fish a little.

Jared’s mouth is currently planted on the skin of his belly over his navel, tongue fluttering in and out, and wow, Jensen’s having a hard time focusing on not coming because coming suddenly seems like a really good idea, but he wants to hold out, build up stamina, last a little longer than he’s been doing lately. On the one hand, Jensen feels ten years younger. On the other, he’d kind of like to not blow his load whenever Jared looks at him. It’s Jared’s fault for being so hot, but mostly for knowing exactly where to strike so that Jensen’s heart thumps right up into his throat and his lungs bail out and his sight gets all sparkly and his body just arches, all on its own, and all of this happens _at the very same instant_ , and that’s just not fair.

Jensen’s sure the guys in Fig. 1 and Fig. 2 would have lasted much longer than he’s lasting. Those guys do get up to a lot of sex, granted, but Jensen likes to think he can take more than a minute’s worth of teasing without even being fully out of his damn jeans yet.

He wonders if Jared wants to fuck him. Wants to get inside him like Jensen wants him to. Is that the kind of thing Jared thinks about when he’s tonguing Jensen’s navel raw? Or… is it still weird for Jared to go there mentally? Jared’s had a lot less time to get used to this whole ‘I’m super gay for my best bud and I might want to screw him repeatedly’ thing. And Jared hasn’t even mentioned it. Hasn’t hinted specifically either, as far as Jensen can tell.

Maybe tongues and fingers and jacking each other off is more than plenty for Jared.

It’s really inconvenient to get these attacks of nerves in the middle of sex with the guy he’s completely mad over. Jensen actually does wilt then, and when that happens, it’s a struggle to get enough air, to tamp down on the bad sort of shivers, to not grab Jared by the hair and drag him up and kiss him until Jensen’s forgotten there was ever a problem.

Jared lifts his head. “Hey, what’s… _Hey_.”

Jensen swallows. Blinks at the ceiling and at Jared, who is crawling up the bed in a very economic fashion— as opposed to the more sultry, catlike method he uses most nights— and pulling Jensen up a little by his arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jensen breathes. He’s okay, really. He’s okay with not making love to the man he— loves— and—

“Hey, hey, hey, wait.” Jared’s eyes are wide. He tugs Jensen fully upright and backs him into the headboard. His hands skate over Jensen’s bare shoulders, down his chest and up again, curving over his throat like he’s trying to get hold of something. “Jen? Fuck, you’re not having an allergic reaction to something, are you?”

“What? No.” At least he doesn’t think so. Doesn’t think many people are allergic to not being fucked by Jared.

Well, okay, maybe some of the fangirls are, but they’ll just have to sack up and deal.

“Dude.” Jared leans in, trails his fingers over the base of Jensen’s throat. “You’re freaking me out a little.”

“Freaking me out,” Jensen mumbles.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Jared’s pretty obviously not inclined to believe him, from the look on his face. But he just stretches, sits down beside Jensen with his back to the headboard as well, and picks up Jensen’s hand. Settles it in his own, palms together. Playing with Jared’s fingers suddenly and unexpectedly becomes Jensen’s sole reason for existing.

“You’re sure you’re okay,” Jared says at last. The air in the room is cooling down a little, or maybe Jensen’s flush is just receding.

“Yeah.” He squeezes Jared’s hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

They’re both sitting there naked, not having sex, and Jensen kind of wants to cover himself. He envies Jared, the comfort he has with his body on display, even if it is only for Jensen. It’s weird, wanting Jared to look at him and also wondering if maybe Jared shouldn’t. Jared gazes down at their entwined fingers for a second, then sighs. “I’m, you’re probably just tired. Long day and… yeah.”

He starts to disentangle their hands. Jensen latches on like a mollusk to a coastal rock.

“I’m— no, no, it’s, I’m good. You’re good, please stay.”

Jared stares at him. “How did you—” He stops. Peers into Jensen’s face. “What’s up?”

God, where to start? _Hi, yeah, I was hoping you might want to stick your dick up my ass, what are your feelings on the subject? I also might be in love with you already._ Not so classy.

 _Misha sort of bought me this book._

So not going there.

Jensen leans over instead and kisses Jared, lengthy and humid, on the mouth. He works his fingers up into Jared’s hair and his other hand down around Jared’s ribs to the small of his back where his skin is still a little sweaty, warm, and by the time he’s done, Jared’s pretty much foregone any pretense of pursuing the matter.

**

Sunday is nice and pretty, and full of things like TV and Lazytimes. Jensen gets hungry for lunch around two in the afternoon and, since Jared’s off picking up more dog food from the supermarket, Jensen makes himself pancakes with cinnamon and almond extract in the batter.

He’s setting the syrup and butter on the table next to his plate when his voicemail tone rings from the couch where he tossed his cell.

It’s Josh. He doesn’t sound like Josh.

“Wait. You’re _gay_ now?”

A second or two of his brother breathing. A noise that sounds utterly dismissive. And then the line cuts off. Jensen stands there holding his phone. Staring at it. Trying to remember a time when breathing came naturally.

The words echo, as sharply as they were spoken. As flatly. Jensen’s not hungry anymore.

**

He leaves his phone on the table by his cold pancakes. When it goes off again, he’s lying in the shaded grass of the backyard, wearing only his jeans, bare feet baking in the late afternoon sunlight. It’s a nice day. He’s going to be all itchy when he gets up, but the lawn looked so lush and cool, and the breeze is soft, kissing all over his chest and ruffling through his hair like fingers. The sky is as blue as a tropical sea. To his right, Harley rests, huffing dreams into the long grass. Sadie’s head is on Jensen’s left thigh.

His ringtone cuts off before it’s supposed to, and he hears Jared’s greeting through the open screen door.

“Hey, how’s it going, man? No, it’s Jared. Jen left his—”

He stops, and doesn’t speak again for a long time. Overhead, the clouds roll, puffy as cotton. Jensen rubs a hand through the short fur on Sadie’s neck.

And inside, Jared’s voice changes.

“No, don’t think I will, thanks. …I can’t help that. …That’s what you’re going with. Really? Okay, then.”

And then there isn’t any more. Jensen thinks Jared must have hung up.

He doesn’t move, just listens to Harley whimpering and strokes Sadie. After a minute, he hears the screen slide open. Footsteps come down the porch stairs, followed by shuffling through the grass. Sadie lifts her head but stays where she is.

Jared strides up, jerking a hand through his hair. He’s holding Jensen’s phone. He opens his mouth, then looks down at Jensen and closes it. Stares for a long time.

Jensen stares back.

Jared drops to his knees and crawls the last two feet to Jensen’s side. He chucks Jensen’s phone somewhere to the left with enough heft to send it out of arm’s reach. And then he displaces Harley and settles himself beside Jensen in the grass. The thin fabric of his t-shirt feels hot against Jensen’s side, and he swears he can hear Jared’s heart beating, a quick thump-thump. Harley slumps back between the both of them, lying on their legs, and Jared tucks one hand into Jensen’s. Pulls his arm close, right up against his ribs.

“Hey.”

Jensen traces fingers over Jared’s wrist, back and forth. Back and forth. Jared threads his other hand through Jensen’s hair and strokes with the same slow cadence.

**

In spite of a long walk with the dogs, in spite of pesto and macaroni elbows for dinner, Jensen can’t shake it. He feels like he’s been dunked in wet cement and now it’s drying, dragging at his legs. He just wants to think, but whenever he tries, he pictures his brother’s face and realizes he’s _really_ not ready to do that.

He doesn’t truly notice how quiet it’s been all evening until Jared answers a call on his land line and the ringing makes Jensen jump. The rhythm of Jared’s voice sends a shiver up Jensen’s back: low, calm— Jensen thinks he’s speaking to his mother, maybe his sister. Just the whats and hows of the day, lazy, lazy. Like everything’s A-okay. Jensen’s heart shifts over heavily in his chest. Instead of rinsing the dishes like he’d planned, he stacks them as neatly as possible in the sink, dries his hands, and decides that’s it for tonight.

He gets ready for bed.

In spite of himself, he checks his cell as he climbs between the sheets. There’s a voicemail from his mother. And that’s the last place he wants to go. The ideas of what she might have called to talk about are coming fast and furious. Jensen sighs and sets the phone down on the bedside table. Massages his eyes.

He just wants to sleep. Tomorrow they’ll be at work and he won’t have to think like Jensen for hours at a time. Dean’s many screwed up psychoses actually sound appealing at the moment.

It’s pretty interesting how Sam and Dean can so easily put aside the cracks about their sexuality, joking scriptwriters aside. Jensen thinks it’s because they really do have their priorities straight. It might be because the world’s ending and not due to any politically correct outlook, but that sort of thing just doesn’t leave any room for worrying about how one’s masculinity might be impinged upon by various assholes hinting that they’re hot for each other. The Winchesters already know they’re hot stuff: they’re saving the fucking planet, for god’s sake. Even if one or both of them were gay— and for the record, Jensen’s sure Sam isn’t, but he’s on the fence about Dean’s sexuality— the purveyors of the apocalypse are still going to get their asses kicked regardless, and _why the hell is he sitting here in his bed pondering Dean and Sam’s preferences in_ their _beds?_

He wishes he were in Jared’s bed, where everything smells like Jared and he can just sink into it. Jensen hears his brother’s voice over the phone, an echo in the void of his thoughts, and presses the heels of his hands over his eyes.

He’s not sure how long he lies there before the bed dips. Jensen lifts his arm from where he’s draped it over his face. Even the light of the bedside lamp is a little blinding after so much darkness, but he can see Jared, crawling onto the bed on his knees. He’s in boxers, and Jensen notices how quiet the house is, the darkness in the hallway, the lack of clicking toenails and jingling collars. Jared’s hair falls over his face, framing his eyes, the ends curling at his cheeks and jaw. Jensen’s fingers tingle with the desire to reach up. Touch it.

Jared comes closer, bracketing Jensen’s hips with his knees, settling a hand carefully to the right of his head. Jensen watches, voiceless, nothing inside except a faint curiosity deadened by hours of over-thinking. Jared lifts his free hand and touches his fingertips to Jensen’s throat, right at the vee of his neckline. His gaze glides up, finds and locks to Jensen’s.

Something rises up in Jensen’s throat and he swallows. Looks away, can’t help it, but Jared brushes his chin and turns his gaze back. Leans down and meets his mouth.

The kiss is so, so light, so tender, that Jensen chokes. He grasps Jared’s biceps with both hands, needing to hold on, find an anchor before he drifts off. Jared angles his head and deepens the kiss. Touches Jensen’s face, strokes the skin of his neck below his ear, down until he’s cupping Jensen’s neck, heat and comfort bleeding between them.

Jensen can’t handle it. He pulls it back, pulls on it hard, but a sound breaks free anyway and Jared’s hand finds his, closes around it swiftly and holds on.

 _God. Why are you so… so—_

Maybe he says it out loud. Jared cradles Jensen somehow in his hands, his arms, his weight and his body, his legs and his knees where they press into Jensen’s sides and the way his tongue just feels him out. All that heat. He slides his palms up Jensen’s sides beneath his shirt and just holds him, keeps him together.

Jensen wants to haul back and sock his brother in the face for being disgusted with this, with anything that Jared does. It’s barely occurring to him that he himself is involved. Insulting him is beside the point; _Jared_ is the treasure here, the one who is being belittled, wronged in so many ways he just doesn’t deserve. Jensen feels possessiveness well up, but more than that, the need to protect. And he can’t… do… _anything_.

His hands shake. Jared takes hold of them and pulls back and looks him in the eye.

“Jared.” It’s all Jensen can manage through his blocked throat. Jared’s lips brush his nose, and that’s it, something snaps and Jensen pushes up, drags him down until all he can taste is Jared’s mouth and warmth and smell, and everything else is finally, finally pushed out.

It’s not just sex that night. Jensen’s too startled, too windblown and shocked and overwhelmed to call it like it really is, but he’s getting there.

**

The next morning, they get up early, make coffee, eat a bagel apiece, and get in the car. Jared finds Jensen’s hand between them on the seat and latches onto it. And holds it the whole way to set, and when they get out of the car and head between the trailers to make-up, Jared grabs hold again and hangs on, sheltered by their bodies where no one else can see.

**

Jared fields everything for Jensen, and that means everything. Jensen’s never seen him so verbose, so active, and that’s saying a lot considering Jensen’s only witnessed an absolutely still Jared once for about five minutes while Jared was sleeping. Jared talks twice as much with the costumers when they ask about their weekend. He co-opts Jim Beaver’s attention with the news that he needs some work on the dialogue between them in scene eight, the one where Dean is yelling at Bobby, Bobby is yelling at Sam and Sam is yelling at everything sentient between the Impala and Pluto. Jared even heads off Misha when Jensen kicks back in his chair between scenes, pretending it’s actually possible to nap in this position while being drizzled on by the lovely and talented Vancouver weather.

It’s a good thing, too, because that’s when the grief sets in.

Jensen can’t get his head around it. Josh has never exactly been vocal about his feelings on certain matters— he’s an Ackles, it’s part of the programming— but Jensen has also never been the focus of his brother’s disappointment like this. His disgust, maybe even derision. Jensen feels like his gut is bruised from an old and powerful kick, like his heart has turned the color of the sky overhead. When he’s not filming, he fingers his cell constantly; he’s never itched so badly to call his brother as he does now. Just to hear his voice, the upswing he’s used to instead of… what he heard last night. He wants desperately to apologize, but he doesn’t know what he would apologize for.

Sera wrote the episode they’re filming today, so naturally it features Sam without a shirt on for about ten seconds. So that’s a little distracting, especially when the lighting gets knocked out of place and Jared has to stand there bare-chested for ten _minutes_ while they fix it. It’s a nice view; Jensen smiles cheekily all the way through it, except for the part where he sticks his tongue out at Misha, who happens to be covered in mud for the same scene. Incidentally, Dean’s not in this scene. It’s a little inspiring to Jensen that, having seen Jared in much less clothing on a regular basis these days, the situation is still raging hot. If Jared reacts the same way to Jensen without clothing, then Jensen’s almost on board with a naked scene of his own, just so Jared can sit in his director’s chair and fidget. You know, if Sera feels like writing that in or something.

In the meantime, Sera has written other scenes, and unfortunately, Jensen can’t distract himself forever. Sam’s ever-present monstrosity swings up to smack the Winchesters between the eyes as it likes to do, but this time, Dean’s decided that, at least for today, come hell or high water (and knowing the angels, it’ll be both to the Nth power), he’s fucking done with putting his baby bro through the ringer so that people they both hate can get their rocks off. Sam is strong. Sam’s heart is always in the right place, and finally, finally, Dean gets it. He gets it, and he stands between his brother and the latest incarnation of suffering, and he damn well shreds everything that tries to get to his Sammy: verbally, mentally, physically.

The impact on Jensen is, shall we say, surprising. Adrenaline takes hold, inching in and wiping away the grief little by little. Jensen gets annoyed. He nails his monologue in one take, biting and snapping his way through the words, flinging vitriol left and right, and even Mark Pellegrino is a little wide-eyed by the time he’s done. The annoyance shifts up to aggravation, and then the scene they film after that reverses the game, throws Dean under the bus in every way possible by showing Sam just how ready his brother was to toss him to the wolves an episode ago, sign off and wash his hands, and go his own way. And Sam hears it all and takes Dean’s side anyway. Puts it away. Tells Zachariah to go fuck himself, Dean’s his brother, no one gets to treat his brother like that except him, and more importantly, _no one hurts his brother like this, period,_ not when he has anything to say about it, and by the time that scene is done, Jensen’s just angry.

He hasn’t been this infuriated in years, can’t even remember the last time because everything seems so pale in comparison now.

Josh is his fucking brother. There’s no apocalypse, no end of the world, and he lets _this_ come between them? Of all the petty, superficial, bigoted things to fixate on—

Jensen tears out of Dean’s jacket, nearly ends up owing costuming a new t-shirt, and breaks the shoelaces on one of Dean’s boots when he yanks the knot free. Everything is setting him off: questions from the PAs that aren’t even directed at him, the way his script will not stay the fuck open to the page he wants… hell, the way the damn afternoon sunlight is coming in over his shades. He manages to get to his trailer before he lets someone have it, and then there’s nothing to do but stew and muster all his reserves to keep from kicking a hole in the wall.

So he’s sleeping with a guy. So fucking _what?_

Jared lets himself in almost silently while Jensen fumes, pacing the length of his trailer with one hand seized in his hair. How dare Josh? How fucking dare he pass judgment on Jensen? More importantly, on Jared? As if he has some sort of monopoly over bad feelings when Jensen’s the one who’s going through the life-altering epiphanies. And whatever Josh said to Jared— fuck, _no_. It’s probably better that Jensen didn’t hear it because fratricide is very, very illegal.

He thinks of Chris, his mother and his father and Misha and the Padaleckis, and he nearly does put a foot through the wall. All those people who support him, and the one his brain fixates on is the person who has a problem with it.

“Jensen.” Jared’s right there, but not touching him, for which Jensen is grateful. There’s no accusation in his tone, no recrimination. Just his name as only Jared can shape it.

“What?” he snaps anyway. Can’t really help it. He collapses onto the couch and throws his head back on the cushion. More quietly, “What?”

Jared does sit, then, and puts a hand in his hair, stroking softly where Jensen’s fingers just yanked. “You want pizza?”

What he wants is a sane, logical, critically thinking universe. And pizza. And Jared. Not necessarily in that order.

“What is so wrong with me?” he asks, wrapping a hand in Jared’s shirt and pulling himself closer. Jared’s hand closes immediately around his.

“Want me to call him?” Jared nuzzles the side of his face. But his voice is sharp. As a razor. Heavy as lead. It makes Jensen shiver, right up his spine.

“Wanna go home, that’s what.” He still likes the Mavs. He still kept Josh’s secret that time his brother snuck home late when he was sixteen. He still eats kettle corn instead of buttered popcorn and he still wishes he could see his nephew more often and he _still_ was best man in Josh’s wedding. God, he wishes it was the weekend again.

~tbc~


	2. Chapter 2

The phone jolts him awake.

Jensen fumbles upright in the dark, smacking his wrist into the bedside table. Beside him, Jared groans and pulls the pillow over his head. Jensen blinks, squints, and sees the word _Mom_.

“‘Lo, hello?”

“Jensen Ross, you call your mother _back_ when she calls you!”

“I…” It’s 2:19 AM. “Mama.”

“I left you four messages since yesterday! I even _texted_. I thought you were dead in a ditch!”

Now, that’s just not logical. “That’s just not logical, Mama.”

She huffs over the phone. “Fine. Your sister thought you were dead in a ditch. But I did text.”

Jensen pulls his phone away and stares at the screen. Sure enough, he’s got about ten notification symbols blinking at him. “Oh, god,” he groans and falls back down on the bed. Jared’s arm snakes sluggishly out of the pile of blankets and wraps around his waist. “Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Honey, did you listen to my messages?”

“Um. No. Sort of ditched my phone this weekend.”

Silence for a long moment, just her breathing. “He did call you, then.”

Well. There goes Jensen’s remaining fuzziness. “Mama,” he sighs. It’s way too Not The Time for this.

“Your dad’s taking care of it, alright? You don’t worry about it, just go to work and spend time with Jared and stay healthy.”

Jensen rubs his forehead. “Mama, I need sleep if I’m going to stay healthy.”

“Right. Right. Okay.” The line clicks and Jensen ends up staring at his phone, his mother’s frazzled, shrill tone still echoing. Jared’s arm tightens around his middle.

“Pu’i’way,” Jared slurs, ‘nslee.”

“Right.” Jensen thunks the phone down on the table and glowers at it for good measure. Then he flips over, burrows into Jared’s long, heavy heat, and forgets it exists.

**

It sort of hits him at the kitchen table, halfway through his cup of coffee, that he might be the reason his family is now at each other’s throats. Like, right now. As he’s swallowing. Jensen pushes his mug away. Over in the doorway, Jared stops with one arm into his jacket.

“Done?”

“Yeah.”

Jared comes closer and peers into the cup. His eyebrows lift. “I can put it in a travel mug. If you—”

Jensen gets up. “No, I’m done. Thanks.” His stomach hurts a little too much for straight caffeine.

Jared follows him around the living room, gathering his things as Jensen gathers his own, and then they’re out the door and in the car again, on their way to more fun with film.

Jensen tries to channel it. It works, for the most part. Dean’s always upset over something anyway, and Jensen’s just thankful he can put a fresh spin on it, a new motivation so that glimmer in Dean’s eyes changes and the viewers don’t get bored. Jensen’s been told that Dean has a thousand faces, and physical expressions aside, it’s something he’s very proud of: Dean Winchester is a complicated guy with lots of different reasons to hate the world, and yet he still finds something inside that keeps him from yanking that plug right out of the socket and leaving his brother to flail for himself.

This week, it’s because Joshua Ackles doesn’t approve of Jensen Ackles’ gayness. Canon non-sequitur? Maybe. Effective? Hell yes.

“Okay?” Jared murmurs between takes, coming up behind and giving his shoulders a brief massage.

Jensen leans into it for one quarter of a second. “Yeah.”

And between new blocking, a group powwow with Sera, Misha joining them for lunch, and retakes, that’s all they have time for.

**

Jensen takes the dogs out when they get home. Jared offers to join him, take control of the berserker that is Harley. When Jensen declines, Jared watches from the living room as he leaves. The last sight Jensen has before the front door shuts is of Jared, shirt unbuttoned at his throat, staring at him from where he stands beside the couch.

The dogs behave surprisingly well, trotting along beside him as his shoes slap the pavement. It’s dark and the air tastes frosty. The neighborhood is very quiet, and for a little while, Jensen feels like his head is clear.

**

Around four AM, Jensen wakes up because his arm has gone to sleep, and by the time he rolls over, he’s awake enough to think, to stare at the ceiling and wonder if Josh is referring to him mentally as ‘faggot’. It’s the stupid kind of thought that only comes late at night and to Jensen’s knowledge, Josh has never used that word in his life, but it’s enough to get him feeling dirty, like someone’s spit on him, and he gets up from Jared’s bed and takes a long, hot shower. After that, he’s far too alert, and Jared finds him two hours later in the kitchen with his third coffee, fully dressed and reading Dave Barry.

“Up early,” Jared yawns. He stops and shuts his eyes as it engulfs him, raises a curled hand to cover his mouth. Jensen watches. Thinks he looks like a cute little kid.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Jensen—” Jared holds his stance for a second, then slumps past to the kitchen, yawning again. Jensen hears the clink of plates. “Want eggs?”

He’s not really hungry. “Sure.”

Jared fixes a plate, but instead of sitting down with him as Jensen expects, he steps back from the table and thumbs toward his room. “Gonna take the dogs out.”

Jensen glances at his eggs and toast. “You don’t want to eat?”

Jared makes a face. “Not yet.” He heads upstairs and comes back down dressed for running with sleepy dogs in tow. Jensen watches him all the way to the front door and when he opens it, the blackness outside just makes Jensen cringe.

“Jare?”

Jared turns. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t really know what he was going to say. Maybe just get Jared to stay in. For whatever damn reason. Something’s off but it’s too early in the morning to put his finger on it, no matter how much coffee he’s had. “Uh. Fresh coffee when you get back?”

Jared smiles. It cuts across his face like light. “Please.”

The door closes and leaves Jensen in silence for a few minutes before he finds he can’t sit there anymore. He’s fidgety and unsettled, and he blames his brother. He wishes he’d stayed in bed, next to Jared. Can’t believe he got up, that it felt like an option. Jensen rubs his eyes and sighs.

**

“Yeah— Mama— No, I have to go, they’re waiting for me.”

“Just wait a second, your dad wants to talk to you.”

“No, I can’t right now. Sorry, will you tell him I’m sorry? Really, they’re going to kill me.”

They’re not. It’s dinner break. No one’s looking for him. Jensen’s a filthy liar. To his _mama_.

“Honey, he’ll make it quick, I promise. You’ll make it quick, right?” she adds, presumably to Jensen’s father.

Jensen panics a little. He hears his father’s voice rumbling an answer, but he’s already talking over it. “Listen, I’ll call you. When I get off, or tomorrow. How about tomorrow? Mom, I gotta go.”

“We love you, sweetie.”

Jensen hangs up in an even worse mood because he’s a lousy son, and really, his parents don’t need two lousy sons right now.

It turns out someone _is_ looking for him. “Folks okay?” Jared asks, falling into step beside Jensen with his hands in his pockets. Jensen’s nerves are still firing. He’s tired and achy and he feels like sleep is so far beyond him right now, it’s on the next dimensional plane.

“Don’t actually know.” He shrugs.

“Is it Josh?” Jared asks after a moment. Jensen lifts his shoulders again.

“Yeah.” He probably _should_ talk to his father, just to find out what his father is saying to Josh. Obviously he’s never seen this particular facet of his family’s inner relations and it’s a little nerve-wracking.

“Jen—” Jared falls silent and on they trudge, toward the catering tent. Jensen’s not hungry but he should eat something. They have night driving scenes to film later, and then Dean’s going to get his ass kicked by the devil himself, and Jensen is really just ready to curl up underneath the couch in his trailer or maybe on the floor of the bathroom stall and get as close to sleep as he can before the search party discovers where he is.

“What exactly did he say to you?” Jared asks. The way it makes Jensen shiver, it’s like it came out of nowhere, only that’s stupid.

“Don’t really want to talk about it, you know?” Even to himself, he sounds harsh. Jensen winces and tries to make up for it. “Look, I’m. You know, my head hurts, I think I’m just gonna.” He motions over his shoulder in the direction of the trailers. Jared’s eyes flick, then return to him.

“Okay.” Jared nods. “Drink water, man.”

“Yeah.” Jensen’s relief is tangible. He waves a hand and heads off to much needed solitude.

Only it doesn’t end up solving anything. When Jensen heads out to the set again an hour later, he still feels like a jerk.

**

He doesn’t like feeling awkward around Jared again. Last time, it was because he was an idiot and made Jared think he hated living with him. He’s not sure where all the awkwardness came from exactly, only that it snuck up on him sometime over the last weekend when he was concentrating on brotherly strife. He thinks he might have done something, but can’t remember what.

In bed, it’s not so complicated: Jensen’s body makes up for the distance as if it has vested interest in the stock market of Jared Padalecki. He can’t seem to keep his hands off Jared, which, while nice, is a little weird considering they have trouble communicating normally when not in bed. He still hasn’t heard from his brother— a mixed blessing— and thankfully his father has not called to continue their Nonversation. When Jensen called back, it might have been midday in Richardson when no one was at home. So sue him.

And he really shouldn’t be thinking of his father or brother while he’s got his hands down Jared’s boxers, but he can’t help it. It’s all rolling together.

Afterward, Jensen doesn’t feel sated. He doesn’t feel satisfied in the least. There’s this growing ache in his belly that says he’s not where he wants to be. When he touched Jared, it felt like he wasn’t close enough, that no amount of sex in the world would get him to the place he’s seeking. It’s amazing he can even articulate it this well because he’s not certain he has a name for what he’s after; just that he doesn’t have it, and he wants it, no, he needs it, and Jared’s pulling away somehow, and that’s _so desperately wrong_ that Jensen’s starting to panic a little.

It’s the next night when he’s kissing Jared, tonsil deep and heading further— when Jared’s hand slides over his backside and their hips lock and the ache just blooms— that Jensen remembers. The kicker is that it’s almost organic, what’s happening. He’s not even thinking about what comes next, but he’s about to go there, he’s ready to go there, if only Jared would just… yeah, just…

Jared doesn’t. His hand smoothes its way up again, around to Jensen’s chest and down the front. Jensen pushes up with his thighs, locks Jared in close with one leg, and realizes what the problem is, and how dejected he is that it doesn’t just _happen_.

Well. This isn’t a movie, after all, and Jensen learns from his mistakes. He knows how to deal with this.

He tells Jared flat out that afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table (again) with coffee in his hands (again), and Misha’s gift in his lap (again), but now he has words, too, and that’s the point.

“Jare, I need to talk to you about something.”

Jared sits down facing him and lays one arm across the table. His fingers play with Jensen’s, and then he palms Jensen’s hand entirely. “Yeah?”

The book is about to slide off Jensen’s lap, so he sets it on the table between them with a sigh. “So.” Not looking Jared in the eye. “There’s this.”

“The Joy of Gay Sex,” Jared intones, sounding a little bit forced. Jensen wants to laugh. It’s so fucking funny that he can’t.

“Been looking at it.” He clears his throat, rubs it with the hand Jared isn’t holding. “And I think… Think I want you to fuck me. Okay.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but none of it happens. The room stays quiet and Jared’s fingers stay linked with his. Jared’s palm does begin to sweat a little, but that’s not really even in the ballpark of reactions Jensen expected.

“Oh,” Jared says, finally. “Oh.”

Maybe Jensen should have opened the book to the page with pictures. He blushes and grips Jared’s hand more tightly. “Yeah.”

“Oh,” Jared says again. He blinks. Jensen stares into his eyes and enjoys the color of them all over again. Jared stares back for a second. Gestures at nothing. “I was kind of. Thought maybe you were deciding to.”

“To.” Jensen blinks back. Jared thumbs the book. His eyes widen once and he sits up straighter.

“I don’t know. Things have been kind of hard on you this week. Thought it might just be easier on you to, you know.”

Jensen thinks suddenly that he might know, but he doesn’t like the inkling, not at all. “Easier, what?”

Jared explodes into motion, a miniature pop of adrenaline that sends his arms flailing outward. “Well, it _would_ be. Easier. And less stressful, and this is all so new, and your family’s fighting. Never even occurred to me that Josh would act that way and it makes me afraid to tell my own brother, and I know how important your family is to you.”

“You’re important to me,” Jensen says, grabbing Jared’s arm again.

“I know that,” Jared assures him. His hand comes down atop Jensen’s and locks on, and Jensen can’t help but sigh a little. “Jen. I know that.”

Jensen doesn’t feel offended. In fact, part of him sees the logic as well as how that logic got so skewed: it would be easier to turn around, go back and straighten things out— pun totally intended— and not have to worry about this stuff. And if that were even an option, if he even _wanted_ that— He doesn’t. Doesn’t want to turn around and back off and just be Jared’s friend anymore.

“Josh can shove it,” he bites out. Isn’t expecting that much venom, but there it is. He’s going to have to have a long talk with his brother. Or maybe a short one, depending on how stupid his brother chooses to be about it, or how violent Jensen chooses to be. Jared gives this whole body shudder, from his legs to the top of his head. He eases his hand free to run it through his hair, and Jensen has to digest a little. Take it in properly. “Wait. Did you really think I would—”

“No.” It’s so firm that Jensen has to believe it. Jared shakes his head and looks him right in the eye. “Not really. Just one of those stupid things that—”

Jensen gets it.

Jared’s still unsure about them. Jared’s _been_ unsure about them. Not about himself, but about Jensen, and them, and where they were headed, and longevity and whether or not Jared could— what? Keep up his end? Hold Jensen’s attention? It all sounds melodramatic, stupid. Jensen thinks it through again and goes for simplicity this time.

Jared is worried that… it’s new. And fragile.

Jensen gets that.

“No, I’m pretty sure I want you to fuck me,” he says, and wonders when he was taken over by potty-mouthed pod people. His face must be the color of a tomato. He wishes Jared was still holding his hand. Why does he have to make it sound so sordid? He isn’t going for sordid.

Jared’s eyes drop back to the book and he gets a very puzzled look on his face. “Where did you find this, anyway?”

Jensen is _so_ loathe to bring this up in sexually charged company, but— “Misha.”

And Jared laughs. Hard. He rubs both hands over his face and holds them there. “Got to be kidding.”

Oh, Jensen wishes. “Not.”

“So he gave me one, too,” Jared mutters, very fast, and Jensen feels his eyes literally bug out of his head. It’s not comfortable.

“He _what?_ ”

“Wants us to have sex. I mean,” Jared corrects hurriedly, lowering his hands and scooping the book toward him as if to get it out of Jensen’s sight. Or maybe use it as a reference. “I mean, we are having sex. Not that I talk about it. With him. I think he’s insane, just, for the record.”

“Do _you_ want to?” So, Jensen meant to comment on how much of a bitch Misha is, and ascertain whether Jared’s willing to help bury the body later. Alas.

Jared looks at him. Jensen swallows.

“Because I. Been thinking for a while.”

“You want to have _sex_ sex? With me?”

Jared sounds so timid, so shy, that it makes Jensen’s heart swell. He just wants to reach, encompass Jared, wrap him in his arms and push right out of him the thought that he could be unwanted by anyone. The very idea. It makes it much easier to speak.

“Yeah.”

Jared’s mouth works a little, but he remains silent. His eyes drop to his hands and Jensen can tell he’s thinking, turning everything over in his mind and deciding on the best way to process it. Eventually, Jared reaches forward and takes Jensen’s hand in his again. No hesitation, no stuttered movement, just winds their fingers back together and holds on. His hand is warm, a little damp, but… maybe that’s actually Jensen’s hand.

“Are you sure?” Jared asks suddenly. “Because I’ve looked into it, too, and I wouldn’t want to, you know. Hurt you. I’m not exactly an aficionado at sleeping with guys.”

He’s so frank about it that Jensen laughs. Part of it is that he _is_ nervous, but it’s mostly about how Jared can leap from uncertainty to absolute pragmatism in a split second and still be exactly the way he’s always been: see a shiny problem, work out how to fix it, nod to self in an accomplished manner, go about life as usual.

Jensen looks Jared up and down, and clears his throat. “Somehow, I think you’ll do alright.”

**

Call him an ass. Call him whatever. Jensen doesn’t want to be sore during filming, so they don’t have sex that night.

(A.K.A., Jensen Ackles Chickens Out and Jared Padalecki Helps. Jared’s very helpful, and Jensen’s not as chicken shit as one might assume, but he’ll challenge anyone else to jump into a bed full of gay sex with an incredibly well-endowed man when they have to film for sixteen hours the following day, and see how long _they_ last.)

It might not have been the best idea, as it turns out: by the time Jensen wraps on Thursday night, he’s crawling up the walls with unsatisfied sexual tension fit to rival that of Scully and Mulder. Sometimes he’s literally crawling up walls, as they’ve harnessed him for another angel-bashing scene.

There’s still Friday coming, a fact that Jensen knows quite well. But he’s really not in the caring mood this time around. All he can think about is what he’s asked Jared to do, and how it’s going to feel, and what it’s going to be like afterward to look Jared in the eye and smile. Because he’s going to smile. He’s already decided. He has a feeling makeup will be pissed at how much he’ll be smiling tomorrow.

“Want dinner?” Jared asks as they exit their trailers and head through the cold to the parking lot.

No. “Yeah, sure.”

Jared fidgets a little. He’s got one thumb hooked through his belt loop, and his fingers tapping against his upper thigh. Jensen wants to grab his hand and put his own hand there instead. “Could have Clif run us through a drive-thru.”

“Yes. Yeah.” Yes yes _yes_. Anything that gets them home faster. His stomach’s a little rumbly, but his lower back is itching deep where he can’t scratch it and the muscles in his legs feel like they’ve been tightened with a wrench. Sitting still for any amount of time is going to be very difficult. Especially next to Jared, right now, who smells faintly of rain and cologne, whose scent has become the thing Jensen’s woken up to for the past month, whose arms are rippling into gooseflesh in the nippy air, whose hair has fallen into his eyes, whose step is just that much longer than Jensen’s, whose throat is still red where makeup rubbed him clean, whose breath is fresh like toothpaste, and god, if Jared suddenly developed a new pimple, _Jensen would fucking hear it happen_.

“Okay.” Time to calm the hell down, or he’ll jump Jared and yank his clothing off in the backseat or maybe in the parking lot by the handicapped spaces, and Clif will never get a body-guarding job in this town ever again.

What the hell is the matter with him? Jensen’s never the one to instigate a PDA. He pretty much abhors the things when it really gets down to the kissing, because, hey, private time’s private, thank you very much, and he doesn’t want to share with every single person who has access to YouTube.

“Okay?”

Jensen finds Jared peering at him and chews hard on his own lip to keep his focus. It’s Jared. It’s got to be. With Jared, it’s always different, and Jensen should just stop being surprised by that already.

They each get some kind of burger— Jensen’s not really paying attention— and by the time they’re home, Jensen’s belly is full and his nerves are jumping double-time. He wants to lick the salt from their French fries right off Jared’s fingers in front of Clif, and that’s kind of a big clue that he’s losing his reserves of control. They still have dogs to deal with, food and water and potty breaks and all that, and there may be messages on the landline, and Jensen really wishes the rest of the world would just get the fuck out of his face so he can get it on with his boyfriend.

He concentrates on taking deep, slow breaths.

In the front hallway, he’s itchy, needs to be scratched down deep where he can’t reach. He kicks off his shoes and lets Jared deal with the beasts. Which Jared manages in record time, come to think of it, and before he knows it, Jensen’s pulling Jared into his bedroom downstairs and shutting the door firmly behind them. He takes his shirt off without a word, then his jeans, shucking his socks and his watch and underwear. He watches Jared do the same, and the whole time, Jared’s eyes never leave him.

The interesting thing is that he’s not thinking about it in gay terminology anymore. For a while, it was all about how in a few hours he would be having sex with a man. But now it’s just that he’s about to have sex with Jared. His Jared, the person he’s gone crazy over. He almost wishes it had just happened without all this thought. But either way, it’s going to be amazing and it’s going to change them, and he’s a total and unmitigated _sap_.

Jared, of course, ruins it.

“So, I’m not really sure what I’m about to do.” He gazes earnestly at Jensen, cross-legged across from him on Jensen’s bed. They’re not even wearing boxers (what’s the point?) and there’s a tube of lube between them.

“Well, I have this suspicion,” Jensen says, picking up the tube and pointing to it. He’s a little miffed, and that’s probably why he’s preparing to launch into a lecture on the proper uses of lubricant, but Jared sighs and takes the tube out of his hand.

“Yeah, I _know_.” He tosses the tube to his right, not out of reach but certainly out of the way, and Jensen suddenly feels naked. More so than he already is. Jared searches his face. “You’ve never done this before.”

It’s not a question, which is its saving grace. Jensen nods, and Jared nods back. “Neither have I,” he says, and shifts on the bed. “And I’ve looked it up, and, but… I feel like I have the script, but we haven’t done rehearsals yet, and you know everything changes when you actually start acting it out—”

“Yeah.” Seriously, though, how hard could it be? Tons of people do it. And then the next second, Jensen’s carefree attitude is gone and he’s a deer about to be run over by a truck again. He clears his throat. Reminds himself who he’s with. “Look. I want this. You.” He takes Jared’s hand. Feels a little like he’s at one of his sister’s slumber parties, sitting on the bed talking late into the night. Of course, if he finds out his sister ever did _this_ at her slumber parties, he’s going to kill her with a spork. “I just… Half the time I don’t even think about it, Jared. It just feels right. Like it’s going to happen. Like we’ve already maybe done it. Like I’m freaking out over nothing. You know?”

Jared’s nod is slow but sure.

Jensen leans in. “I’m clean. You’re clean. I lo…” Okay, maybe not ready for that, yet. “Jared, the way I _feel_ about you, it—”

Jared kisses him, darts his head in and steals the words right out of him. Jensen forgets all about them. He leans forward, pushes Jared gradually onto his back and lowers himself down onto all that welcome heat and scent and sound. Jared’s body is a rhythm unto itself: Jensen can feel his heartbeat and the rate of his breathing, hear the way words and air mingle as Jared kisses him, feel the drag of his hands and the pressure of Jared’s thighs against his own. He wants Jared, plain and simple, and he’s not sure why it has to be complicated at all. The next second, he knows exactly why, the next he doesn’t again, and so it goes, a rhythm of its own. Jensen tilts his head, turns Jared’s chin a little with his fingers, and rolls up into it, making Jared’s breath hitch and his muscles jerk and his arms rise to encircle him, and _there_ , that’s where Jensen wants to be.

It’s a long session of kissing and it doesn’t get old. It’s steady. Jared licks at the inside of Jensen’s mouth as if he’s still getting to know him, and glad to do it, too. Jensen feels his way down Jared’s body with both hands, over his chest and down to his groin, up his sides, between the mattress and his shoulders, down to the underside of his thighs and all over again, and Jared’s rate of breathing gets more rapid, his kisses less graceful. Jensen wants to peel that refinement apart, dig into what makes it tick and make Jared live without it for the next two hours, at his mercy and beside himself, and all other manner of appropriate aphorisms. Jared’s hands grip him, slide up and down over Jensen’s backside, urging them lazily together as if he’s the one who wants to be fucked. It’s a really nice idea, and Jensen is half tempted to embrace it, let himself off the hook for another night. Except he does want to be fucked and he wants Jared to be the one to do it, something more than fingers this time, and he’s been salivating after it all day, all week, really, and… no, he doesn’t want Jared to be the one this time, _he_ wants the privilege, and he’s going to be fairly selfish about it, thanks.

He’s also going to come soon if they don’t get this show on the road. Jensen tries to say as much to Jared, but doesn’t think he manages it, seeing as talking requires a tongue and he’s basically laving Jared’s wisdom teeth instead. But Jared nods anyway, so maybe he was more forthcoming than he thought. Jared pulls enough out of the kiss for his next breath to rush over Jensen’s face, and reaches a hand out, flipping the now-rumpled bedding. Jensen decides he can’t really wait, though, and starts kissing various places on Jared’s face, sighing into each one.

Jared hunts around absently with one hand and eventually comes up with the tube again. He immediately turns his full attention back to Jensen, cupping his face and kissing him as if that little span of time where he wasn’t touching Jensen with both hands was too long.

“We want condoms?” he breathes against Jensen’s mouth.

“No condoms.” They don’t need them. Jensen plans to get the absolute most out of his and Jared’s clean bill of health. But the lube is a great idea. Another spike of nerves slices through, concerning what’s coming, but it’s so hard to focus on unsavory things when he’s got Jared naked underneath him.

“Kay,” Jared mumbles. Jensen’s not sure if there was actually a word in there, strictly speaking. Doesn’t matter. Jared’s obviously fully on board with this, arching up into Jensen, rolling his hips as if he can’t keep still, just has to move. Jensen understands; he feels pretty much the same way. There isn’t nearly enough of him for the ways in which he wants to touch Jared right now. The room’s getting hot and Jared’s skin is damp, hair curling at his temples and between Jensen’s fingers. Jensen can feel the sweat sliding down his nape. He remembers being grossed out by the physical consequences of sex at one time, but that was a long while ago and he can’t think of much about this that disgusts him at the moment.

Jared fumbles the cap off the lube and Jensen kind of loses track until he feels fingers against him in a place that really isn’t an entrance at all. He stills— he can’t help it— and Jared looks up at him.

“S’okay,” Jensen says before Jared can speak, nodding frantically and kissing him silent, kissing himself to distraction. Jared eases him open, and yeah, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not a deal-breaker by any means, not when Jared can kiss like this, make Jensen feel like he’s the only other being on earth.

Part of him wouldn’t mind if it stopped here, Jared’s fingers in him and Jared’s other hand on his back, inner thighs bracketing Jensen’s hips, Jared focusing entirely on Jensen’s mouth. His cheeks and nose and chin briefly, but his _mouth_ again, stroking with his tongue like kissing’s the answer to everything. Maybe Jared has a thing for his mouth in particular. Jensen knows he’s got a thing for _Jared’s_ mouth; but seriously, the man is massaging his prostate and Jensen just can’t be bothered with much else. Every so often, the thought flickers in that fingers aren’t all, that Jared’s much bigger than his fingers, but Jared’s palm splays flat on Jensen’s lower back, urging steadily downward, and Jensen shivers bodily. He thrusts in the cradle of Jared’s hips and just feels better. About everything.

He has no idea if he’s even close to ready when Jared slides his fingers free. No context, see. Jensen’s heart jumps up, but Jared grips his shoulders and turns him, urges him down to the mattress on his stomach and pushes up off the bed, pressing his chest to Jensen’s back. He winds an arm around Jensen and grips his hand, holds tight and returns the fingers of his other hand to where they were. And Jensen’s breath catches. His eyes roll back. He’s such a frikkin’ cliché and it’s so great.

Jared kisses his shoulder and holds it, breathing through his nose. It’s so intimate Jensen can’t control the shudders. He reaches back, latches onto Jared’s side and tries not to move because every motion echoes exponentially down there where Jared’s fingers are, threatens to spear through him.

“Wanna see you,” he manages, and Jared leans up, kisses him hard. Jensen sees white for a second at the accompanying sensations down below.

“I know,” Jared croaks, “I know, but— I think this way won’t— as much.”

Yeah. Yeah, Jensen read that chapter. Still. So unfair.

“Do it?” he says, and is surprised by the level sound of his voice.

But Jared stops instead. He reaches, touches Jensen’s chin with his fingertips and turns his face until their eyes meet. Jensen swallows, looks up at Jared and does not break their gaze. Jared’s thumb slips once down his cheek and catches at his lip. He nods; Jensen isn’t sure Jared realizes he’s doing it. Jensen kisses Jared’s palm softly.

And it _does_ hurt. It’s all Jensen can do not to jerk away at first. And then it’s this steady too-large pain that he’s not sure what to do with, like swallowing an ice cube and waiting for it to slide all the way down into his stomach. But it’s also an arresting feeling, hanging on the verge of something else much bigger. It’s too hard to stay still: Jensen bends his knee, runs his foot up over Jared’s calf, unable to do anything, to help this along or change it somehow, except it does change, a little, and Jensen gets an inkling and rolls further onto his stomach, and _that_ makes a difference.

He exhales hard into the sheet. Jared’s fingers tighten over his hip.

“Okay?” Jared sounds ragged, absolutely broken, like he can’t possibly form any other sound.

Jensen has no idea what he is. Overcome’s a good word. Totally astounded. He feels Jared’s mouth, lips parted and hot against the back of his shoulder, and it’s just _arousing_ , is what it is. He can’t believe he’s doing this, _they’re_ doing this. Jared is doing all of this to him and he’s not even trying, for god’s sake, not yet, so when he does, when he actually gets himself together and starts—

Jensen squeezes Jared’s side and pulls him closer, and Jared moves like he can’t help it.

Oh yeah, Jensen wants more of that. He hitches his knee up even more and groans at the difference, the swell of sensation as Jared shifts to keep them close. He nods, unable to speak, and pulls at Jared’s hip a little helplessly.

Jared’s always been a quick study.

He cants his hips up firmly once, again, hand pressing the hollow of Jensen’s pelvis to keep them together, and then surges forward, muscles tensing and releasing in time, plastered all over Jensen’s back and _hitting_ that _spot_ every single _time_.

“Oh my god,” Jensen gasps, like it’s being battered out of him. He inhales, tries to inhale, but there’s so much going on that oxygen seems beside the point. Just Jared, doing that, that’s fine, that’s _just_ fine, Jared’s hands sliding over his chest, grazing his clavicle and his nipples and on down to his stomach where Jensen can’t stop shaking. Jensen arches back, trying for more, and gets more, he fucking gets it and that’s amazing. Damn _it_ , why didn’t they do this before?

“—didn’ w’do this b’fore?”

Jared huffs out something against his nape. Jensen can’t imagine he’s been understood, but, hell, who cares? They’re doing it now.

He’s going to be sore tomorrow. He’s going to hurt. He’s going to remember every inch of this because of it.

“God—” he whispers. Jared turns his face with a trembling hand and kisses him long and firmly, fingers pressing into the skin beneath his jaw. And then he tenses, Jensen can feel the new hardness in his thigh muscles— and thrusts again, faster, pushing up a little on his arms. Cool air washes between them, skidding over Jensen’s back, and he moans, but Jared manages coordination where Jensen cannot. He reaches around and takes Jensen in hand, and that’s fucking it.

Jensen snaps his jaw shut so hard it smarts, and comes. Curls up around it, rides it. It lasts for way too long, and Jared’s still moving and it’s an absolute overload. Jensen makes a sharp sound, gripping Jared’s hip so tightly he knows there will be finger marks later, and feels it when Jared follows him. It sets him off again, at least that’s what it feels like, and then Jensen can’t make any sound at all because he’s about to bliss the fuck out of this existential plane, thank you very, very much.

He comes back shaking, quivering from head to toe, nerves still firing at random until he can’t help how harshly he’s breathing. There’s weight on him, and heat. Sweat all over him, running between his fingers and… he’s got too many fingers. No, those are Jared’s fingers, locked in between his. Jensen grips tight, raises Jared’s hand to his mouth and kisses each knuckle like it’s priceless. When he runs out of knuckles, he goes back, does it again.

“Holy…” comes Jared’s voice, muffled against Jensen’s shoulder blade. “Oh.”

“Uh huh,” Jensen manages. He can still _feel_ Jared, pressing inside, moving with each breath. It’s too, too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches back, tries to keep Jared still just for a second, he just needs— a second— but Jared resists, pulling carefully out of him in a long drag that makes Jensen pant into the sheets and twist his fingers into the fabric of the pillow in reach.

Finally, it’s over and Jared slumps down, still at his back, one hand crawling over him as if he can’t keep away.

And Jensen’s… okay, he’s a mess. Sex like this isn’t exactly a tidy thing. He sags against the bed, sluggishly cataloguing his body. Thinks there might be sense to having condoms around if just to make the clean up easier after.

And then he thinks, _Aw, fuck it._

“Going to your bed,” he mumbles.

“What?” Jared slurs after a minute.

Jensen can only manage a groan.

He feels Jared roll toward him. “You alright?”

He’s fine. He’s just peachy. And he’s not being sarcastic. It’s the best fucking sex he’s ever had. “M’good. You?”

Jared presses his mouth to the curve of Jensen’s shoulder. “Don’t even know,” he mutters.

That gets his attention. Jensen pushes up as much as he can and tries to turn over, except that doesn’t work too well. He ends up losing his balance and flopping against Jared’s chest in lieu of finesse. “You. What?”

Jared stares at him from beneath heavy eyelids. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. It almost sounds like an afterthought.

Jensen reaches up and takes Jared’s chin between his fingers. “Jared?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Jensen’s not sure if he could answer the same question.

Jared touches Jensen’s eyebrow with his nose. “Sure.”

He’s tired, really tired. And he can see that Jared is, too, halfway to dozing already in a bed Jensen really doesn’t want to remain in. They’re taking this display up to Jared’s room before they pass out, and Jensen’s going to need the bathroom before they go. He presses his lips to Jared’s forehead, murmurs what he thinks might be words, then gets out of bed gingerly and wobbles his way out the door and across the hall. He’s not sure of the passage of time, but he thinks he’s efficient, and when he’s done, Jared’s leaning against the doorway to his room, eyes trained sleepily on him as he emerges. Jensen feels like he should be a little grossed out by things, but he’s really not. It is what it is and what it is was fucking good. And he just wants to get back into Jared’s arms, like, right now.

They detour to the kitchen, and Jared stands at the counter stark naked, drinking a glass of water. Jensen tracks every ripple of his throat. He feels hyperaware; every single sound, every motion Jared makes, every breath and blink, Jensen’s conscious of it. It’s a staggering feeling.

God, he feels like he could get up on the counter, let Jared pick him up and _put_ him on the counter, and have sex with him all over again.

Of course, reality makes sure he knows that’s not going to happen; Jensen shifts his weight and lets out a quick breath at the tenderness. He’s stiffening up so fast; hasn’t even been done for ten minutes and already he’s thinking he might need a trip to a jacuzzi if he’s going to function at all on set tomorrow.

Jared’s looking at him again.

Jensen leans against the wall and lets it take his weight. He shuts his eyes. “Well. Fuck.”

Fingers slide around his arm. “Are you okay?”

He can walk. That’s a good sign. He can still speak and think, and he _still_ wants Jared all over him even though he’s so sore he could spit. Jensen’s sure he’ll be just fine.

He pushes off the wall, curls a hand around the back of Jared’s neck, up through his hair, and pulls him into a kiss. Jared relaxes against him slowly, as if he’s forgotten he has a body, and Jensen smiles against his mouth.

“Take me to bed,” he whispers.

Jared does.

**

Strangely, Misha leaves them alone on Friday. Jensen was expecting clairvoyance again. Knowing looks and troubling grins and commentary that makes him want to make sure he hasn’t grown another arm out of his lower back. And he gets that, of course, because this is Misha Collins he’s talking about. But Misha does leave them their physical space, and it’s _that_ which makes Jensen really think Misha knows what happened last night.

Or maybe they’re broadcasting it in infrared or something. Whatever. Jensen’s adaptive; he’ll take what’s on offer and not think about it unless someone forces him to.

It’s mid-morning and they’re in between scenes. At least, in between Winchester scenes; Bobby and Cas are having that growly-versus-oblivious chitchat they like, probably concerning the meaning of hobbits, so Jensen and Jared are parked in their director’s chairs on the side, taking a welcome break with Fruit Ninja and script notes. Jensen’s sore. Sitting is not the nicest activity in the world today. But he’s sat in worse chairs before and this isn’t unmanageable by any means. Jensen kind of likes the reminder anyway, the need to shift, lean to the side a little and give himself a break until he has to shift weight again. It’s a good kind of sore, like when he’s been working out. Sometimes the ache is almost sweet.

For the record, he has indeed been grinning since he got up and makeup did look at him a little irritably.

Also, Jared has barely gotten more than ten feet away from him all morning. Jensen doesn’t know how he’s managed it, considering what they’ve been filming, but he’s incredibly glad. Jared’s presence makes him feel warm, soothed. And the way Jared’s hands find ways to trail over his arm, touch down on his shoulder, graze his nape, bump his leg, press into his side— He might be a little oblivious about some things, but he never realized how proprietary Jared can be until now. It’s not the invasive sort of possessiveness. It’s like Jared’s body is just aware of his at all times and finds ways to make contact regardless of whatever Jared may be doing. It’s almost protective.

Jensen fucking loves it. And he feels like they’ve got a secret, a big one that he doesn’t want to tell anyone else because it’s exclusive, and the fact that he and Jared both know makes him feel like giggling.

“You know what would be awesome?” Jared asks from his chair.

“What would be awesome?”

“If Lonely Island guest-starred in an episode.” Jared twiddles his phone once more and gets up. “Yeah. I’m gonna go convince Sera.”

“Show her Jack Sparrow.”

Jared claps Jensen on the back. He gets about four feet and stops. Turns. “Hey. Wanna come with? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Coffee’s free.”

Jared just blinks at him. “But I’d carry it for you.”

Jensen gets up, takes a minute to stretch out the extra kinks, and witnesses a new smile from Jared, the substance of which makes his knees go a little wobbly again. He wishes he could reach out, pull Jared closer by the waistline of his jeans and attach their belts or something. God, if only there weren’t witnesses all over the damn place.

Still, he waits until they’re between set pieces, then hooks his fingers in Jared’s pocket and tugs him close until their hips bump. Jared promptly wheels around, gets him into his arms, and kisses his temple long and hard. By the time they’re out in the open again, Jared has let him go, but Jensen can still feel his heat as if his arms never fell away.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> The website included in the story is not mine, though I do thank whoever made it from the bottom of my heart.


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